


Algorithm of Jealousy

by singularly_obsessed (orphan_account)



Series: SO's Sherlock Challenge Fills [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff without Plot, Insecure Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Sherlock Doesn't Get Pop Culture Things Again, ish, once again author cannot not write sherlock pov without overabundance of italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7638466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/singularly_obsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was spending an unreasonable amount of time on the computer, in Sherlock’s opinion, even considering his hunt-peck-hunt typing method. </p>
<p>In John’s opinion, he was just spending too much time on something non-Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Algorithm of Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> Cutting it really fucking late, but it's still July where I'm at so I MADE IT, OKAY? This is a fill for [Sherlock Challenge](http://sherlockchallenge.tumblr.com/) July prompt of [Domestic 'Crimes'.](http://sherlockchallenge.tumblr.com/post/146750468500/welcome-to-the-first-sherlock-challenge-this) I'd been thinking of writing something along these lines for awhile now, so thanks for giving me the perfect prompt to get my ass moving!
> 
> Beta'd so magificently by the dearest [Emily_Nicaoidh,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_Nicaoidh/pseuds/Emily_Nicaoidh) brit-pick still null and void. Any and all mistakes obviously belong to me, because I am an idiot!

\- - -

Sherlock knew many things about John. He knew, for example, that John:

1\. Slept on his back because he couldn’t sleep in any other position. (Though Sherlock hypothesized sleeping on his belly or side would bring more _pleasant_ dreams.)

2\. Hated his middle name (Hamish) because of his father.

3\. Wore jumpers not because he was cold, but because he’d grown accustomed to being overly warm.

4\. Had to have the window seat on a plane or else would experience extreme nausea.

5\. Liked strawberry jam **only** on toast.

Sherlock also knew the average time it took John to write an average blog post. And not that Sherlock was counting the exact second, but John could have written two-point-three blog posts _today alone_ with how long he’d been on his laptop.

More obviously, however, was the fact that while writing blog posts, John did not commonly:

1\. Curse.

2\. Stare at one point on the screen.

3\. Hit only, and in no discernible pattern, the up and down arrow keys.

But most importantly, John did not ever smile so brilliantly at _blog posts._

Which meant it was time for Sherlock to investigate.

\- - -

On the days that John went to the surgery, he woke up precisely at six and left the flat between six forty and six fifty-five, depending on how … amorousSherlock was feeling. Today, John was out the door and walking up the street at six fifty-two, and Sherlock was at the desk and in John’s laptop at six fifty-three.

And then Sherlock ran into a slight problem. John’s computer didn’t have internet. Matter of fact, John had his wifi turned _off._

Sherlock frowned. John often did things that Sherlock couldn’t understand (he was an endless puzzle; one more reason to worry about drooling in front of him), but this … did he think Mycroft couldn’t see what he was doing with it off? Did he not think Sherlock would have told him by now if that were true?

Didn’t matter much in the end, though, for all it made Sherlock’s job a mite easier. Whatever had John so ensnared had to be on his hard-drive. Simple enough to track it down and examine what he was up against—

Except there was nothing new on John’s hard-drive.

And the youngest thing in his recycling bin was seven months old.

_And_ his computer history was spotless.

Sherlock’s pride in John’s improved subterfuge was only slightly marred by his annoyance at it. Or perhaps that was more directed at his own insecurity—as unfounded as he knew it was. This was _John,_ after all. John, who called him _love_ and _bee_ and _git_ and _arsehole_ interwoven with the same level of fondness that would be sickening from anyone else; the same John who chose _him._ Who chose William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed John’s laptop, abandoning it on the desk in favour of experimenting in the kitchen. He hadnothing to worry about.

\- - -

Sherlock had never been so wrong in his life. Even his prediction of John’s reaction to his return after The Fall had not been so extraordinarily _wrong._

He stared at the ceiling of their bedroom, wondering what it was he could have missed. One more time, he decided, he would try _one more time_ , and then he would give in to the inevitable.

_“John,”_ he called, and he knew he was whining. He was long past the stage of trying to hide it.

“Coming, coming; just one second!” John called back in that distracted manner that meant _liar_.

And Sherlock accepted his fate, reaching down to retrieve the duvet from where he’d nearly pushed it off, tugging it over his shoulders and rolling to his side, back to John’s side of the bed and the door for good measure. He thought about putting on some pants, maybe a pair of sleep trousers and shirt to _really_ send the message, but decided John would get the message either way as he finally heard John walking down the hall.

And freeze in the doorway. “Oh, I thought we were—”

“Not anymore,” Sherlock growled. “A certain _someone_ took too long to get here.”

John scoffed, clothes rustling as he prepared for bed. “A certain _someone_ thinks three minutes—”

“Ten.”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate—”

Sherlock whipped his arm out, thrusting his phone in John’s general direction. “Ten. Minutes.”

“You _timed_ me?!”

Sherlock wished he didn’t find amusement in how high John’s voice got when he was shocked. “Obviously.”

“Do you always time me?” John wondered aloud as he sat on the edge of the bed, and Sherlock huffed, curling tighter around his pillow. He hoped it looked as passive-aggressive as it felt.

“Usually I don’t have to.”

“Oh,” John breathed, and Sherlock swore he could hear John’s brain cells shifting into high gear. It was unfair how clueless he was about everything _not Sherlock._ “Are you jealous of my computer?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John!”

“I’m not the one jealous of plastic and electricity.”

“I am _not_ jealous!” Sherlock snapped, rolling over to glare properly. Which he soon realized was another mistake of the night, as John turned out to be closer than he’d thought, grabbing him by the waist and rolling him until he lay sprawled on top of John.

But at least Sherlock still had the advantage for glaring.

John smiled charmingly up at him, the teasing glint not yet worked out of his eyes. “There’s no need to be jealous, bee. As nice as my laptop is, you have quite a few assets of your own.” He grinned, hands drifting down Sherlock’s hips to fondle his arse.

Sherlock attempted to jab him with his knee, but John held him too close. “Apparently these _assets_ aren’t enticing enough if it takes you ten minutes to remember they’ve been offered.”

John frowned, arms wrapping around Sherlock’s back, thumbs brushing unconsciously soothing circles. “That’s not true and you know it.”

Sherlock half-shrugged, glancing away. He did know, but the demons of his mind palace took great pains in finding and great pleasure in taking every opportunity to make him doubt it. And ingrained beliefs are long and difficult to remove.

“Hey.” John’s hand cupped Sherlock’s jaw with a gentle insistence, drawing him back around to brush a kiss against the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry your partner is an idiot,” he murmured, skin whispering as he kissed the other side. “Remind me in the morning and I’ll show you what else has been distracting me.”

“Else?” Sherlock breathed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Mm hmm.” John’s nose brushed against his. “I’ll explain tomorrow.”

“Why not now?” Sherlock’s mind burned with the distance between them, barely aware of what his mouth was saying.

John laughed, and Sherlock couldn’t stop the twitch forward, the desire to _taste_ it. “Because _now_ I want to worship my beautiful, gorgeous lover to apologize for my dick-headed-ness. If that’s acceptable?”

“Yes,” Sherlock sighed. “Yes yes yes yes _yes.”_

\- - -

Sherlock woke slowly, coming around in gentle stages he could never indulge in before John. Perfect, wonderful, _amazing_ John, who was already awake, but had stayed in bed just so Sherlock could use his chest as a pillow for a little while longer. Sherlock’s throat rumbled its best approximation of a purr, arm pulling John infinitely closer.

John chuckled, scraping his nails against Sherlock’s scalp before pressing his face to the crown of his head. “Good morning to you too.”

Sherlock snuffled into his neck in response, encouraging John to kiss his hair. “Come on, lemme up,” he said after a moment more, much to Sherlock’s groaning displeasure. He was _comfortable,_ it would be sacrilegious or some other complex word to _move._ “I have to _pee,_ Sherlock!” John laughed, pushing half-heartedly against Sherlock’s arm. “Five minutes and I’ll be back, promise.”

Sherlock grumbled, but released him, latching on to his pillow in retaliation. He could almost hear John rolling his eyes on the way to the toilet.

Sherlock dozed until John returned, throwing himself back on John with the faintest of garbled reprimands. Even in his half-awareness, Sherlock knew he had been gone too long for just a piss-break. John shushed him, balancing his laptop between them and saying,

“I promised I would show you what I’ve been doing, or are you not interested anymore?”

Sherlock was very much _still interested,_ and nipped sharply at John’s neck before turning his full attention to the computer. John had the ‘internet connection error’ page open—what would have been Google had his computer been receiving wifi. Confused, Sherlock tipped his head up and John smirked, untangling their fingers to reach forward and tap the space bar.

The pixel image at the top of the screen jumped, and Sherlock’s face must have wrinkled further as he watched it ‘run’ across the screen, dying as it hit a pixel-cactus, if John’s jerking laughter under him meant anything.

“It’s a little easter-egg game,” John explained through his giggles, “just something to do if the internet fails. Never could get very far though, living with a berk of a flatmate too stunning for his own good.”

“But—It’s just an algorithm!” Sherlock stuttered, unable to tell if he were more flabbergasted at himself for worrying over John’s obsession or John for having the obsession in the first place.

“I did tell you it was a stupid thing to be jealous over,” John said as he closed the laptop and pushed it under the bed.

“No, _I_ said that.”

_“You_ said it was ridiculous that you were jealous of a computer.”

“Exactly.”

“Just shut up and come here.”

\- - -

**Author's Note:**

> You guys should really thank me okay, because this did have an explicit scene right there where you wanted it, but it was absolutely disastrous, so I deleted it. I mean, I know I have to start somewhere, but. Not there, and not with that.
> 
> Also, I have found out that my way of writing puts Sherlock as the queen of _italics_ and John the king of Unnecessary Capital Letters. I don't know what I'm going to do with this information, other than possibly develop a crack fic from it. 
> 
> I'm always open to talk on my [tumblr!](http://singularlyobsessed.tumblr.com/)


End file.
